


Where the Guitars Play

by Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Humor, Breylo (Sort of), Canon Compliant, Competitive Masturbation, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fantasizing, Force Bond (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jealousy, Mostly Smut, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Smut, That's Not How The Force Works, The Force Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/pseuds/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard
Summary: Rey would rather be in a Force bond with a different man.  Literally any other man in the galaxy.





	Where the Guitars Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KyloTrashForever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/gifts).

_Hey, hey, what can I do, I got a woman who won’t be true_

-Led Zeppelin

“You’ve got it all wrong.” 

Rey has lived to regret those words. She could have said nothing. It was unlikely Kylo would even have noticed her presence. She could have said something with a little more dignity. Or death threats. Or insults. She could have just screamed a battle-cry and summoned her lightsaber. 

Yes, there are many things Rey could have done, should have done, should have said the first time she walked in on Kylo Ren vigorously jerking off in his bed. Taunting him about the realism of his masturbatory fantasy was probably not the best course of action, in crystal-clear hindsight. 

She was just so offended; not that he was thinking about her, really, because she couldn’t pretend to be surprised by that, but that he had no clue of what she was like. Would be like. In the situation where she was straddling his lap while he sucked her nipples. Not that such a situation would ever come to pass, given Kylo’s life choices. 

In any event, the tits he was imagining on her were at least 50% larger than the genuine articles, not to mention pinker, harder, and just different from the chest Rey largely ignored. More importantly, the _noises _that fantasy-Rey was making- they were just wrong. All wrong. 

Kylo has his helmet on, if little else, so she can’t see what expression he makes, but their bond gives her unfettered access to his emotions. 

Surprise, embarrassment, anger, all expected, but then-

His hand tightens around his cock. Pumps it harder. 

“You think you can do better?” he says, voice hissing through his helmet. “You’re welcome to try.” He gestures at his cock with his free hand.

Rey snorts. “Yeah, no. I’m sure nobody will ever be as good at stroking you off as you are. Practice makes perfect, and everything.”

Kylo can’t contradict that. He grabs a bottle from an unseen nightstand and squirts more lube in his palm. Rey’s eyes widen when she realizes that he doesn’t intend to stop. 

“Please don’t let me interrupt you,” she says, trying to recall what she was doing in the first place. Fixing something, maybe? 

Her sarcasm is wasted on the Supreme Leader. 

“Oh, I won’t,” Kylo says. He is cradling his balls with one hand while the other strokes a figure-eight from the tip down the shaft. 

His fantasy has changed. Instead of Rey bouncing in his lap, he now imagines her bent over the table she is leaning on. She can’t ignore him from there; in his mind, she is calling his name, begging him to fuck her.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all,” Rey says. “I would never beg you. For anything. You must be thinking of some other woman.”

He tries to picture it then, just to spite her. He tries to change the form of the woman who is turning up her rounded ass at him. Gives her longer hair, more generous proportions. He is trying to imagine fucking someone who isn’t her. 

It doesn’t work. 

_I need you, Supreme Leader_, fantasy-Rey tells Kylo.

It’s difficult for a man to shrug while roughly pulling at his cock, but Kylo tries. 

“I’m afraid there is no other woman for me, Scavenger. If you don’t want to watch, look away.”

Rey tries. She turns away in a huff. But it is useless to physically turn when the man she is avoiding is half a galaxy away in the first place, not to mention inside of her mind. 

“Why does it bother you?” Kylo asks. “You do it too.” 

And of course she does. It’s a natural function, like eating or sleeping. When she isn’t too tired or running for her life or packed in with ten other members of the Resistance, Rey enjoys physical release as much as anyone else.

She just doesn’t think about Kylo Ren when she does it. Never. Usually not. Not as a general practice. Not across the average of her life, considering the length of time before she met him. 

Kylo laughs. 

“You don’t have any more choice about this than I do. We have a destiny. The Force has brought us together. You can’t fight it,” he says. He’s not really trying to climax any longer. When Rey turns back to glare at him, he removes his helmet. His hair is sweaty around his temples, but his eyes are bright and intent on her. 

“That’s bullshit,” Rey tells him succinctly. “I can think about anything I want to. You’re only thinking about me to- to vex me. Your mind games don’t work.” 

“Is that so?” Kylo asks, folding his arms behind his head. “Well, go on then. Do it, if that’s true.” 

Rey has a sinking feeling that she has gone astray at some point in the conversation, but she is no coward, and she has never backed down from a battle with Kylo Ren before.

So she sits on her couch and shoves down her leggings. 

“Fine then,” she mutters, spreading her legs. She angles her hips slightly away from Kylo, as though there were any way to preserve her modesty at this point. It’s useless, since he can see whatever she sees. He’s in her head with her, has been since the first time they touched. He knows what she looks like naked, if he cares to see it from her vantage point. 

Rey tries to ignore him. Drawing on her Jedi training, she imagines the ocean, its cool, lapping waves. She runs her hand down her stomach to her folds. She’s already a little bit wet, and Kylo is unjustifiably proud about that. As though he had anything to do with it. Rey is familiar with her own body, and she tries to simply draw two fingertips around her clit in circles until she comes. It usually does the trick.

Today it does not. 

Her body is unimpressed by the crashing waves and desert sands her mind has conjured. She doesn’t want to fuck a natural phenomenon. Or maybe she is just nervous because Kylo Ren is watching everything she thinks and does with great interest, and no little amusement. 

“There’s no reason to deny yourself what you want,” Kylo tells her. “Not when you can have it.” 

That’s very Sith of him, Rey thinks, trying to disregard the implied offer. She’s not happy at the way her nipples tighten at the sound of his voice. If she thinks about him, he wins. If she sinks two fingers into her aching cunt while looking at his body, at the way the muscles in his arms stand out when he props himself up to watch her, at the way his lower lip is caught in his teeth- 

Damn it, she is thinking about him. And it’s making her wetter.

With a small smile of victory, Kylo levers himself up from his bed and stalks across the metaphysical space between them. 

He’s almost close enough to touch her. And if he does—if she lets him touch her, sink into her with that cock he’s holding like a weapon—she knows it will just be harder to say ‘no’ the next time. And the next. It’s already hard enough to say no to Kylo Ren.

It is for those very good reasons that Rey does something would ordinarily cross too many lines for her. Would make her feel guilty. 

She thinks of someone. Not Kylo. It’s only by panicked chance that she summons thick dark curls, places them between her legs. She imagines a hot, wet mouth stroking at her core, hands spreading her legs further. 

Kylo feels triumphant. Until she causes the head to lift, and she imagines looking down into Poe Dameron’s dark eyes. 

Kylo has a lot of feelings about that. Rey expects him to feel angry. Jealous. Betrayed, maybe, that Rey is touching herself, thinking about another man. That’s not all, though. It’s not all negative, he feels… 

She didn’t expect him to respond in kind. Kylo’s standing too close to her, still naked, still touching himself. 

“The pilot?” he sneers, to cover the frisson of excitement that is running through his body. “You would be utterly wasted on him. If you want someone to lick your cunt for you, you’d be better off asking me.” 

He is…bigger, somehow. Swollen under his quickly moving hands. Kylo Ren is the largest man Rey knows, and she fully expected that his cock would match, but even as she tries to imagine that the best pilot in the Resistance is making love to her with his mouth, her gaze is trapped by what Kylo is doing. He seems close to finishing, even as he continues to criticize her, his words coming out faster and faster. 

“I’ve been inside his mind, you know. He doesn’t even particularly care for women. He would orgasm in 30 seconds and ask you if you came. He wouldn’t even bother to suck on your ripe little tits. He would-”

Rey tries to drown Kylo out as their hands separately move faster and faster. She is almost there, Poe’s face flickering into Kylo’s and back again as she imagines that something better than her own fingers is on her. 

And then Kylo is coming in thick white lashes, a few drops of his spend landing on her bare thighs. The echo of his pleasure through the bond sets off her own orgasm, and the force of it runs up her spine. She clenches her thighs around her hand until her body stops shaking, discarding the fantasy that there is a man between them.

She can hear Kylo breathing raggedly. Rey closes her eyes to avoid looking at him.

“This was good,” Kylo says. “Let’s do this again sometime.” 

* * *

The terrible thing is that Rey doesn’t feel terrible about it. She feels more relaxed and energized than she has in months. It’s not even hard to meet Poe’s eyes in the canteen the next day. 

_He’d probably be thrilled_, Rey justifies it to herself. _Anything for the war effort. _That her efforts at competitive masturbation are equally thrilling to the Supreme Leader of the opposing forces was an unfortunate side effect of her new hobby. 

The Force is happy to let her know whenever Kylo is seeking a little manual relief. Probably because he is always thinking about her when it happens. Rey gets a little tickle in the back of her mind when Kylo unzips his trousers, followed quickly by the tingles in less mentionable portions of her anatomy. She’s had to duck out of more than one conference to head for her bunk, bombarded by images of herself taking Kylo’s cock in every position she knew- and a few she thought were technically impossible.

Kylo didn’t seem to mind that Rey would rather think about fucking anyone—literally anyone—other than him. 

Kylo is alone today, she thinks (and hopes), seated in a throne room that dwarfs the one they destroyed on the _Supremacy_. He thinks about sitting on Snoke’s throne, giving orders to assembled masses of Stormtroopers. In his fantasy, Rey kneels before him, his cock scraping the back of her throat while she grasps his thighs, desperate for more.

Rey retaliates with a detailed fantasy of Finn folding her in two and pounding her from behind. She rubs alongside her clit while she thinks of how it would feel to be supported by strong hands in a position where she can’t reciprocate. To be treasured. To be coddled. 

Kylo gives her mixed reviews. 

“The traitor wouldn’t have any idea what to do with you. He could never give you what you want. What you need,” he says. 

But he’s happy to retrofit himself into her scenario. 

“I could take you from behind. Hold you down, if you like,” he says, his voice dark and seductive. “You wouldn’t know where I would touch you next. Or how. You couldn’t control if I went fast or slow. You’d just have to trust me to take care of you.” 

Rey bites into the thick meat of her palm and imagines it is Kylo’s neck. In her mind, there are strong hands cupping her breasts and toying with her nipples—but they veer wildly from warm, chapped skin to soft black leather and back again.

“You don’t want the traitor. You wish you did. But you want _me_,” Kylo says, stroking himself. He can imagine how it would feel to be inside her, and the pressure in his balls is mirrored in the ache Rey feels deep in her cunt- an ache three of her own reaching fingers can’t hardly ease. 

Rey doesn’t think she manages to whimper the correct name when she comes, clenching on her own hand. 

_You did_, Kylo says, before their connection snaps. _But the next time, I want you on top_.

* * *

It’s been going on for weeks now. She hasn’t told a soul why her eyes are bright and skin is clear. She has metaphysically banged most of the Resistance and she has never felt calmer and better rested. Rey just wishes that Kylo would enjoy it a little bit less. He had no right to be so cheerful about Rey’s mental promiscuity. Or so certain that she wouldn’t drag some unsuspecting recruit into a storage container and bring something other than her own right hand into her actual sex life. 

_If you were going to touch another person, you know it would be me_, Kylo thinks, and Rey fears that he is right.

Having run through the available males, Rey tentatively imagines rolling around on the floor of the Millennium Falcon’s cockpit with Rose Tico. She smells much nicer than most of Rey’s comrades. Her skin looks soft. Her small, lovely fingers are delicate under the ring Finn has crafted from scrap copper. Rey manages to think of a few things they could do, musters a creditable orgasm out of it. 

Rey isn’t really certain that women are her thing, but Kylo is at least shocked into silence until well after Rey has finished zipping her jumpsuit back up. 

_You are a terrible friend_, he tells her. _Getting fisted by your best friend’s fiancée. … I did nut. But I am judging you. _

“You’re welcome to fap with someone else,” Rey tells him tartly. 

But she knows he won’t. They’re together in this. 

* * *

“Again?” Rey asks. He imagined fucking her ass that morning, thought about how she would feel coming around him with tears on her cheeks and his fingers plunging into her alongside his cock. 

Rey was tempted to imagine blowing Luke Skywalker as revenge, but there are some lines that even she won’t cross. 

In any event, she would expect Kylo to be satiated for a little longer. Didn’t he have an empire to run? Dark deeds to commit? Was he just going to yank his tail and think about her for the rest of his life? 

“You love it too,” Kylo says, his voice oddly muffled. “You like having me without admitting to yourself that we’re together.” 

Rey doesn’t immediately retort. She turns away from the panel she is soldering to look for him, curious about the strain in his tone. 

“Oh, for kriff’s sake,” she says when she sees him. She’s well-used to finding him with his cock out at this point, but the belt he’s got around his neck is a new touch. “If you want to end your miserable reign so badly, you can just surrender,” Rey tells him, inspecting his set-up despite her aversion to looking at him too closely in that state. “No need to permanently scar the poor Stormtroopers who find your body.” 

“It’s perfectly safe,” Kylo tells her. “I can use the Force to loosen it if necessary.” He grunts, and a bead of precum slides down his erect cock. 

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Rey says, unnecessarily. He never does, whether he’s merely having a quick rub out on her imaginary tits or seizing control of an evil galactic empire.

It would serve him right if he accidentally killed himself via autoerotic asphyxiation. Though Rey would hate to break that news to his mother. She tells herself that’s her reason for intervening as she uses the Force to adjust the strap across his throat so that it no longer presses on his windpipe. 

Unsurprisingly, Kylo has been imagining that it is her slim hands around his neck. For someone who has ruthlessly clawed his way to the top of a ruthless interstellar organization, he seems to oddly prefer that Rey take the reins in most of the scenarios he imagines. 

“You want me to choke you while I fuck you with my fingers?” she asks him incredulously, dipping to the surface of his mind. She is learning new things from him every day. Just not the things she would ever have imagined learning from Kylo Ren. 

“Please,” he murmurs, slipping one hand between his legs. 

Rey is so shocked she simply cannot conjure a rejoinder. There is no countervailing fantasy strong enough to ward off the images he is throwing at her. 

Rey licks her lips, which feel dry and bare. 

“I don’t- I don’t know why I would. There doesn’t seem to be anything in it for me,” she tells him when she can speak again. 

He doesn’t suggest she’d stick her fingers in his ass just to make him happy. She doesn’t want him to be happy and have the things he wants, he thinks at her. 

She’d do it for Ben Solo, though, he thinks.

“Sure,” she tells him. “But you keep telling me that Ben Solo has left the cluster.”

“Pretend I’m Ben Solo then,” he retorts, heat in his voice. 

And that does give her an idea. Why can’t she imagine Ben Solo? It wouldn’t be wrong to touch Ben Solo. If he were Ben Solo, she would let him see her naked whenever he wanted. She can imagine Ben Solo, and nobody is wrong. Nobody is suffering. Nobody is being used for her pleasure. It would be right to be with Ben Solo. 

So she slips off her coveralls, pulls the ties from her hair. 

Ben would press his lips to her neck. Cup her breasts in his hands. 

She imagines him coming up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her back against him. She imagines the heat of his cock between the globes of her ass, and the prickle of his pubic hair. 

She hears Kylo rustling with his bedclothes and rising to his feet. He isn’t opposed to this fantasy. 

What would Ben do next? She supposes that he would run his hands over her body. He would want all of her in his hands. 

Ben Solo would _love _her. 

_He would_, Kylo thinks. 

Ben would circle her nipples with his big hands until they were hard and aching for his mouth. He would-

And then Rey feels it—the warm and wet of Kylo’s mouth on her breast. In all these weeks they’ve been doing this, he has never touched her, even when she has been naked and panting and splayed across her bunk. 

The feel of his red lips on her body, brought by the Force across unfathomable distances, sends an electric current directly into her core. 

“But you’re not Ben,” Rey says unsteadily. She doesn’t know whether she wants to push him away. She wants Ben Solo, not the monster who would have let the Resistance die. Ben, in her mind, is still behind her, still clutching her against him.

“Imagine he’s here too,” Kylo says, his voice indistinct against her body. 

And that would be alright, wouldn’t it? If Ben wanted someone else there, she could let him trace down her stomach with his lips. Ben could hold her still while Kylo nosed through her matted curls. 

“Yes, he just wants you to feel good,” Kylo whispers, just before the tip of his tongue flicks out to taste her cleft. 

Rey can allow it, justify it, as long as she clings to the idea that Ben is behind her, blessing this, even as she knows that it is Kylo who is now spreading her thighs wider and pressing his mouth against her cunt. 

Kylo imagines it too. He imagines a soft boy who has never known betrayal. A boy who can touch her with reverent hands, and who never imagines his death under them. The both of them could do it together—make love to her, be everything she wants. 

What Kylo knows, what Rey will not admit, is that she needs both. She doesn’t just want gentle touches and a sweet kiss to the point of her jaw. She also wants the graze of teeth against her clit and the rough sounds of Kylo’s hands chafing his cock, even as he thrusts his tongue inside her.

_Why stop there? You can have whatever you want. As much of me as you want. As many-_

And that’s a beautiful idea, isn’t it? He could have been anything he wanted to. He could have been a proud Jedi warrior with flowing robes and piercing eyes. A crack pilot with clever hands and calloused fingers. A brilliant diplomat whose broad shoulders held up the galaxy. He could have been all those things. 

_And they would all want you, every one_, Kylo thinks. She’s getting close, and so is he. He is pressing around her, every one of him. Every version of him, all of them naked and aching, hard cocks, hands touching her-

Her fantasy and his, coming together with such force that she can feel the hands gripping her breasts and thighs and cunt. 

They come together, her with a burst of wetness on his tongue, him with a hot rush of spend that strikes her legs and calves.

Like a soap bubble, the fantasy dissolves. They are left naked and panting.

Kylo’s neck is red and raw where he pulled at the belt around his neck.

But Rey…finds it harder to explain the fingerprint bruises on her breasts and hips. Not when she is alone in her room, not a soul in sight. 


End file.
